Sleepwalker
by Demeter1
Summary: To Hatori, Akito was always that smiling, beautiful little boy. Written pre97.


**"Sleepwalker"**

**Demeter**

**********Disclaimer:** All rights and privileges of Fruits Basket characters, objects and plots are property and trademarks of Takaya Natsuki and associated parties. The author claims no legal responsibility for problems associated with using this work. The original story, relationships, and characters found within the fic are property of Demeter.

**********Rating:** PG13

**********Pairings:** None, unless you squint really hard

**********Author's Notes:** Set pre-Tohru (as I like to call it) and post-Kana.

**********Warnings:** A slightly unfamiliar Kureno. Written pre-97.

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As electricity was prone to do in dying houses, the lights flickered as the warm summer rain continued to pound outside in the inky night. The bulb was strong but held only somewhat steady. Shadows had long filled the corners with black ghosts and the house groaned and worried the foundations of old, rotted wood. With barely a glance up at the light, the tall, slender man at the desk continued to scrawl words and numbers into a notebook already filled halfway with meaningless sentences strung together like ribs in a thin human chest.

Sohma Hatori was up late, finishing the small mountain of paperwork that could only come from being the sole physician to a large family clan and one very sick boy, but as usual, he never complained. Didn't even consider it. Complaining meant something could be done and nothing could be done to change his duties to his God.

Hatori's office was sparse, largely filled with files stacked one upon another. In a space that was exclusively occupied by him, there were no personal touches, no pretty knick-knacks to decorate the shelves which were almost harshly bare. Not even a family portrait or a photo of a beloved girlfriend. It might have been the room of a dead man, but one look at the doctor would have dispelled any preconceptions of that idea.

He was very much alive and healthy.

The only thing out of place among such order and cleanliness might have been the vase filled with white irises, the soft petals wilting and browning in the humid heat. They looked as if they'd been sitting on his desk for a long time, and though they were obviously ready to be thrown away, it seemed as if Hatori no longer even saw them.

A couple of tired-looking flies were crawling around it and settled in for the night.

With a perpetual expression of coldness, Hatori reminded most people of ice, so cold it scorched and burned. With his tie loosened, the top few buttons of his shirt loosened, and his suit jacket hanging on the coat rack, he leaned back to rest his aching neck against the softness of the chair. A floorboard creaked.

Akito was nearly half a kilogram lighter than the week before.

It was the sharpest decrease in months, and Hatori couldn't tell what was going on. He'd watched Akito like a hawk ever since the flowered vase had accidentally blinded his left eye, and knew Akito was choking down most of his carefully-measured food. The vitamins were gone every day, and from what little Kureno told him, Akito mostly stayed in bed.

Vague nausea quaked his stomach. What Akito did was his own choice, of course, but if he lost vital weight and then got sick…

Hatori capped his pen and closed his eyes in weariness. The pain throbbing at the back of his head was like the shuffling of cards; it never stopped, but it also never got progressively worse. It was the pain all Juunishi got at semi-regular intervals. Akito had told him once in a pique of fever that it was the due punishment of _animals_ for forcing their death upon the Sohma Head. They were as linked to their God as their God was to them.

It was all the fault of the curse, of course; never, never, never Akito's.

Somehow, the words were not so comforting in the middle of night, when Momiji was sleeping too soundly in his bed, where there were no sounds bustling to distract him, and no Shigure or Ayame calling him to report every single inconsequential little detail to him. He was sure he knew more about Yuki's relationship to Ayame than Yuki did. Another floorboard creaked.

A hand came up and gently brushed over the new cloudiness in his left eye. He was still unused to the feeling and touching it was becoming a habit. There were times Hatori thought he could see Kana smiling at him, but whether it was an illusion built from his own despair or a kindly effect left over from the trauma, he didn't know. It didn't matter though. The fault had not been Akito's and Akito could never be blamed.

_You can't even break the curse!_

It was the words of a child driven half-mad from something which wasn't his fault. Yes. Hatori shut his eyes tightly. It was only the phantom within his mind that filled the voice with hatred, rage, and unbearable grief. Akito had been trying to protect him in his own twisted way; it was the Curse. Always the Curse.

_We don't need you! We don't need you! We don't need you!_

A wordless sound wrung itself free from his lips and Hatori lay his head on the table, wondering with a dull clanging in his head whether Akito's voice would follow him everywhere for the rest of eternity.

The floorboards creaked and this time, he knew that it wasn't just the house settling.

Immediately alert, he tensed in his chair as the floorboards creaked – it was light, yes, but Hatori's sharp ears still detected the weak movements – in time to a slow, mangled shuffling. If Shigure had been around, it could have been on of his injured mutts, but seeing as the dog was in his own little home quite far away, Hatori ignored the thought.

He slithered from his chair and walked with silence to the door. No good in scaring whoever it was. His hand stopped at the handle, suddenly wondering if it was one of the younger Juunishi sneaking around… or off. He frowned. If Akito got wind that Haru and Rin were…

Hatori shook the quiet thought from his head. Sometimes he suspected Akito of having the ability of reading minds.

With a quick movement, he swung the door open. And it was lucky that it swung inward because he saw Akito move past him, clad only in a sheer, white robe. His first reaction was utter surprise because he knew very well that Akito hated the darkness and when evening fell, he absolutely refused to leave his well-lit room until morning came on rosy wings to announce that everything was right in the world again. His second was a delayed form of disbelief, because Kureno would have never let Akito leave his bed even if Akito had gotten the strange notion to wander around the House at _night_.

Hatori's disbelief was immediately assuaged as moments later, he saw Kureno following Akito in a careful, steady fashion. Kureno's dark eyes connected to those of Hatori, and they were quiet and neutral with knowledge. He brought a finger up to his lips and motioned for absolute silence. When it was obvious that Hatori wouldn't say a word, Kureno turned his full attention back to the swaying Akito.

Who was now very obviously not paying attention to the two Juunishi behind him.

A frown flitted over his face before smoothing back to worry. Hatori touched Kureno lightly on the shoulder. The man tensed under his fingers, but then relaxed after one of those terse moments Hatori should have known was bad news. It reminded Hatori with a vivid clarity that Kureno had broken the arm of the last servant to accidentally come upon him.

In the lowest possible tenor available to his voice, Hatori asked, succinctly and directly, "What the hell is going on?"

The moments following should have been filled with quiet explanations, but all Kureno did was stare at Hatori steadily, as if all the answers were found in the now-mismatched eyes… oh.

_Oh._

Hatori's hand flew up with hasty dignity to his left eye, suddenly overly conscious of the cloudiness and what it might look like to the man who had watched from the shadows and did nothing to stop an enraged Akito from staining the tatami mats with an arc of splattered blood. He'd heard that the servants had ripped everything up and burned them, per Shigure's orders.

It had been, apparently, the only way to strike the burgeoning madness from Akito's mind. By pretending none of it ever happened.

"Sleepwalking." It was one word, but in typical Kureno-fashion, he'd managed to squeeze shades and levels of emotion into that flat monotone without ever having to change his expression. Hatori envied his ability sometimes.

He turned his attention back to Akito who had come to a swaying stop in the dark hallway. There were no sounds coming from him, not even a distressed cry that could have told Hatori where his sleepwalking stemmed from. The yukata – so thin and much too light – was falling down around his shoulders and a smooth sliver of a bony white shoulder peeked out. It was pathetic. It was frightening. It was obscenely beautiful.

It made Hatori want to collapse on his knees and weep.

Ruthlessly, he shoved it to the back of his throat and advanced on Akito. A light hand on his upper arm stopped him, but with an impatient shake he whirled on Kureno. The burning glare in his eyes was all he needed.

"Akito is uneasy."

Flatly, Hatori said, "Akito needs to rest."

Kureno shrugged. Whether it meant there was nothing Kureno could do or that he didn't care about the diagnosis, Hatori didn't know. Pressing his lips together, he attempted to explain. "Akito cannot get up in the middle of the night like this. Akito's lost half a kilogram since the week before."

Kureno knew what that meant. But he did nothing but turn his eye back to Akito.

"If he falls ill." He began and then stopped, feeling a fury inexplicably rise in his chest. He choked it back in an effort to convey why Akito couldn't be out in the middle of the night, why he should never wear something as thin as that particular yukata, why a thousand million things should have been spilling from his lips in evidence.

But his left eye still ached when it rained.

"Yes?"

"… Akito should stay in bed." It was a feeble response at best, and Hatori knew that better than anyone. A stare down. Kureno, who usually never took his attention from Akito, was almost challenging in the flatness of his gaze. Hatori was suddenly very aware of how dark and quiet it was in the House and the fact that Kureno had been trained in ways that none of them were able to comprehend. There were rumours he had been sent, as a child, to some of the rougher dojos as a child.

The sound of a delicate knees cracking against hard wood immediately drew their divided attention. Hatori berated himself for forgetting – forgetting! – how Akito was standing nearly naked in the hallways – warm as the summer night was – and there hadn't even been any attempt to bring him back to bed.

With hushed footsteps, Kureno crossed the hallway and knelt next to the immobile Akito, whose face was the color of the third snow in winter. Hatori rarely ever saw his lips red with warmth and life; tinged with the lightest of blue and dark dark dark violet, the doctor knew, even with all the science in his life, that blood was frozen in Akito.

Akito whimpered.

Softly, gently, Kureno called his name. "Akito."

It was the voice of someone who was speaking to the one person they loved. The tones of heat caressed the room and built pleasant warmth.

Hatori wasn't fooled.

Eyes rimmed with delicate lashes that reminded anyone the incredibly fragility of their God fluttered once, twice. It didn't fail to twist the knot and drop a pebble in Hatori's stomach in the face of unfeigned weakness. Moments like these were growing rarer and rarer; with each passing day, Hatori could almost _feel_ Akito's mind slip and falter, charging toward shadows and visions no one else could see. He'd expected it; everyone did. It was the natural and due course of the Head of the Sohma Clan and there was little or nothing anyone could do but wait out patiently for the agony struggle to prolong itself in one of those ludicrous attempts to _live_.

There was suddenly the bitter, foul taste of helplessness.

Akito's voice was small, breathless, hanging by a thread of consciousness. "Kureno. Kureno. Kureno."

"Yes, Akito." A long, slender arm wrapped itself around Akito's thin – oh, so thin, too thin, far too thin – shoulders and cradled the frail body to a strong chest that was always welcoming to his God.

_The smile of a child who swung his legs against the edge of the railing._

"Shigure… where's Shigure?"

_Shigure cradling a weeping Akito who wouldn't – couldn't – tell anyone where he hurt._

"He left, remember?"

_Dark slashing paint splattered the wall of the room which had formerly belonged to Akito and now was the domain – prison – of Yuki._

"Le…ft?"

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Akito vomiting after his first encounter with Kyo's true form_

"A long time ago, Akito."

_Searing pain in his left eye when the vase suddenly appeared out of nowhere._

An arm reached for Kureno's face and with a steadiness that spoke of over a decade by Akito's side, he grasped the breakable fingers and murmured something Hatori couldn't hear.

_sorry sorry sorry sorry so sorry i couldn't protect you i couldn't save you i couldn't…!_

He shuddered violently.

"Hatori." Kureno's authoritative voice rung, shattering the uneasy silence filled with too many memories of a past that would have to remain buried if he wanted to keep Akito's peace of mind somewhat stable.

"What?"

"Call Shigure. Have him come." It was a voice that was bland, _had_ to be bland, but brooked no dissent. "No matter what."

Akito's head turned weakly and his expression caught Hatori's. He wanted to question Akito's reasons for such a – the irony was lost – request, wanted to shake the boy until his head was screwed on straight again. It was only for a moment, but Hatori saw the flash of unease that narrowed dark eyes and flushed unnaturally pale cheeks. When it passed, Akito hid his face in Kureno's chest and the pebble in Hatori's stomach suddenly became a boulder, heavy and painful in the way it felt like being a dragon abandoned.

He suddenly wanted so badly for Akito to brush his hands through his hair.

Young Akito had claimed to love Shigure and Hatori best.

Kureno cradled Akito carefully in his arms and stood with ease. Turning away, there was only the softness of care in his movements. It made a fluid picture and suddenly, the bitter and copper taste of blood was in the doctor's mouth. A pink tongue ran itself over the trickle of blood coming from the cut in his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to be the one holding Akito and the one tucking him back into bed.

It was long moments of standing there in the dark hallway, his heart beating harshly against his chest, a hand clenched before Hatori could sufficiently pull himself together to pick up the phone. He rolled words in his mouth about why he was calling so late – or rather, so early after he checked his watch – for Shigure. He hoped he wouldn't wake Yuki.

After the thirty-second ring, he slowly hung up. There had been no answer, that much was obvious. With Shigure's ears, it was unlikely the man would have been still sleeping after so many harsh sounds echoing through the old-fashioned home. But…

Hatori glanced outside and saw that the rain had eased, that there was some gray in the sky reflecting light. Three in the morning and he'd yet to sleep. A small snort rose to his lips. His pulse was racing as if he'd just finished three surgeries and a marathon. He felt keyed, holed.

"Hel. Lo. Ha. To. Ri."

Cheek twitching at the familiar voice behind him, the doctor turned, a sigh already suppressed.

"Shigure."

The man laughed in delight, his eyes nearly twinkling with mad glee. "So happy to see me?"

"No, Akito-"

"-called for me." Shigure smiled, and it was the almost-smirk that drove Hatori mad.

There was a moment of cagey silence.

"Yes. Akito did." Hatori hesitated for a moment. "How did you…?"

"The watchers are all over the estate, Ha-chan."

"… I see."

"So what provoked this little need? I thought he was doing well again."

Now Hatori knew Shigure was definitely throwing a dagger out. "No. He was sleepwalking. Kureno says Akito's uneasy."

"Why, then I shall run to my beloved Akito! He must be comforted!" Shigure pranced around the hallway and made kissing sounds to the air.

"Stop it. Akito's not doing well. He needs…" Hatori trailed off, somewhat helplessly.

"Me, of course."

"He has Kureno."

The smiled hardened. "Yes, but he doesn't have _me_."

With those words rolling around the room, he swept off toward the inner sanctums of the house and Hatori could distantly hear him knock on Akito's door and loudly declare his appearance. There was the faint shuffling – and without knowing why, he tensed – of sheets and the low voices of Shigure and Kureno speaking.

Moments later, Kureno appeared, his hair slightly disheveled. His face was smoothed into an expressionless mask.

Banishment.

He knew well what it felt like.

"I need a drink."

Hatori glanced at Kureno in bafflement. In all the time he had known the man, he'd never seen a drop of alcohol cross those lips. Not even at the New Years Dance where even the youngest members of the Juunishi drank at least a cup of wine.

But who was he to argue? His nerves were jangled. His mind racing.

Unfortunately, he needed a drink too.

_ring, ring_

Hatori eyed the vibrating phone with askance. Whoever would call at three in the morning must be insane or…

With a quick motion of his hands, he picked the phone up and breathed softly, "Ayame."

"Ah! Ha-chan! I can't sleep at all! Up for a drink?"

He glanced up at Kureno, who was now gazing somewhat unsteadily at the direction of Akito's room, and sighing, answered, "Yes, and Kureno's joining us."

It should have been happy, with Ayame shrieking in delight, with a rare drink among cousins; but it was a shadowed occurrence. The reason why Shigure showed up before Hatori could call. Why Kureno relinquished his place without argument. Why Hatori ignored the pain in his eye. Why Ayame knew when to call and what to do when the family was dying.

_A beautiful, smiling little boy._

Hatori decided he wanted tequila.

**********- fin -**


End file.
